Reverence
by SVOC Luva
Summary: Coda to Season 8 episode Coming Home, in which Kelly regains her memory after having been shot. Kelly remembered everything now, she finally remembered, and it was like this immense weight had been lifted from her shoulders, the oppression she’d been feel


Title: Reverence

Fandom: Beverly Hills 90210

AN: Coda to Season 8 episode Coming Home, in which Kelly regains her memory after having been shot. Please read and review it's very much appreciated. This is my first 90210 fic, I hope you enjoy.

Summary: Kelly remembered everything now, she finally remembered, and it was like this huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, her soul unburdened.

Kelly smiled, breathing in the scent of the man next to her, so fresh, so familiar. Kelly remembered everything now, she finally remembered, and it was like this immense weight had been lifted from her shoulders, the oppression she'd been feeling eradicated, her soul now unburdened. She felt so happy, so light; getting her memories back was like taking that first breath of air after nearly drowning; the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted really. She hadn't known that she'd been starving for them, her memories; she'd only known that the fragmented pieces everyone had kept giving her weren't enough. She'd tried to fit them together, like one might try to fit together the pieces of a puzzle, but all that left her with was frustration and this deep, burning ache, because who could complete a puzzle this complicated without the picture on the front of the box.

The more time she'd spent with Brandon the clearer things became. She'd started to recall the little things first; like, how Brandon always tugs on his ear when he's writing, a look of utmost concentration on his face. The feel of his hair, so thick and soft as she cards her fingers through it. The way he looks when he wakes up in the morning, his hair rumpled from sleep, his eyes half mast, slivers of liquid blue, and that adorable grin that lights up his face as he pulls her closer, cocooning them both in warm blankets. The way he says I love you, his voice ardent, the words caressing her mind like his hands would her skin. His kisses so caring; infinitely tender, yet passionate, his lips soft and pliable against her own, and his tongue tangling with hers leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. His taste, chocolate ice cream, and something distinct, something pure Brandon, overpowering her. What it felt like to make love to him, sweat slick skin sliding over sweat slick skin, hips thrusting in long hard strokes, fingers gripping soft hair, bruising kisses, heavy breathing, and the thunderous sound of their hearts beating in their chests. The way she felt about him, how much she loved him rushing back with all of those things.

She hates that she forgot him, can't quite understand how she ever could, because the way she feels for him is so strong, she can hardly bear to be away from him, even for one moment. She also hates that her not remembering hurt him the way it did, he hadn't told her though, only choosing to say that he'd missed her, but she'd been able to tell, could still see it even now while he was deep in sleep. His eyebrows were furrowed, his face pinched. He hasn't said what the shooting was like either, and she wonders how he feels about it, how scared he'd been, and like an answer to some unspoken prayer his breathing became uneven, his heart began beating wildly against his chest, where her fingers were resting. His face twisting in agony, a thick sheen of sweat breaking out all over his body, quickly dampening his t- shirt. Not long after he's whimpering, tiny mewling sounds getting caught in the back of his throat, and then he's bolting upright, shaking like a leaf on a breezy autumn day. She reaches out, pulling him back against her, they're as close as they can be, and she's whispering into his ear, telling him that it's okay, that she's okay, that it's over now. It's like a dam breaks inside him, tears welling up in his eyes, over flowing, making their way down his cheeks in torrents of grief and pain, the warmth wetting her neck.

Suddenly he's talking, his voice raw and cracked, raking over her ears like shards of broken glass. He's saying that it won't go away, that every time he closes his eyes he's back in the parking lot of the airport, the gunfire cracking through the night air, and her body jerking back as the bullet impacts with her stomach, falling to the ground. The way he'd rushed over to her, slumping to his knees, putting pressure on the wound, her blood, her life essence sticky and warm against his fingers, and the way he'd rambled, telling her over and over that it was going to be okay even though he was afraid it wasn't. She thinks to herself that this ordeal has been harder on him than it has on her even though it was she who'd gotten shot, and she wishes that she could take the pain away, but knows she can't. So, she settles for being there, shushing him, once again murmuring into his ear how she's okay, how it's over now, and she continues saying it, over and over again, hoping that it will eventually sink in, as she runs a calming hand up and down his heaving back. Listening to the sound of his harsh sobs filling the room she realizes it not over yet, not for him anyway, and maybe not for her either because they haven't caught the guy who'd shot her, but she thinks even though this is hard, even though it hurts they'll make it through this okay. Together like they always do.

Thanks,

Alaina


End file.
